


H.M.S. Sophie

by vita_dulcedo_spes



Category: Aubrey-Maturin Series - Patrick O'Brian, Master and Commander - All Media Types
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-23
Updated: 2016-08-23
Packaged: 2018-08-10 13:25:38
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,344
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7846840
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vita_dulcedo_spes/pseuds/vita_dulcedo_spes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>By the time I finished The Mauritius Command I had this small work written up; it is simply my reflection, almost a remembrance. I hope you'll like it.</p><p>With love to this little fandom, V</p>
            </blockquote>





	H.M.S. Sophie

It was an uncomfortable first night aboard the _Sophie_ for Stephen Maturin. The men, though happy to have a surgeon on their brig and already inclined to feel a sort of affection for their new doctor, had not trusted him enough to climb on himself, and after some uncertain moments had brought him up in a canvas rig.

The Doctor had spent the afternoon hours looking over the sloop with a very eager Pullings; being introduced to this, that, and the other officer or midshipman with many a hat-tip and handshake – future patients, as he thought of them, and indeed he covertly examined each man during their greetings – and had finally settled into arranging his very few belongings by candlelight in the small surgeon’s cabin as outside the westering sun offered its precious last rays of light. His ‘cello was stowed in the bulkhead locker Jack had ordered built for the purpose; his chest, loosely packed with his few clothes and several books, had been placed beside the door aft, doubling as a bedside table for his cot. All the rest that he had brought aboard – his exiguous collection of surgeon’s tools and pharmaceuticals – had been carried reverentially to the sick bay by two young midshipmen.

With all immediate duties fulfilled, Stephen extinguished the lone candle with a little huff, and headed to the deck with the open seas and the infinite heavens somewhere in the back of his mind.

‘An ordinary man –’ he thought when he had found a comfortable sort of stance against the warm rail of the quarterdeck, ‘– an ordinary man, accustomed to feeling the solid earth under his foot, is all undisturbed by the extraordinary rotations and revolutions of the planetary body upon which he is born and dies; yet, removed from his native land and placed upon a fragile sea-faring vessel such as this, he must certainly be at a loss. Why, he is as natural as a cat in a bath – which is damned unnatural.’ There was a pause to his thought, during which the hourglass was turned, the bell rang, and the officer of the watch let out a sigh. ‘And yet,’ he thought as he watched two masters’ mates arguing at the wheel about something called _bargemen_ – something, as Stephen hoped, and not _someone_ , given that the mates were arguing over nutritional value – ‘And yet, as ever, Nature proves adaptation possible.’

His thoughts continued in a similar way until the feeling on deck altered perceptibly to a solemn dutifulness among all the hands. A tharrumping of boots across the deck; and despite the howls of an upset sea against the hull and the _Sophie_ 's low groans underfoot, Jack Aubrey's cheerful ‘Doctor!’ as he strode across to the quarterdeck was entirely too loud – the men about them (who sighed inwardly as Dr Maturin remained casually bent over the rail) had and begun paying particular attention to their duties when his gold hair was spotted on deck, and with a frustrated look Jack lowered his voice to a more suitable sort of yell.

‘Dr Maturin,' he said, returning to his natural cheerfulness, 'I am delighted to see you at last; no doubt your exploration went handsomely? Is not Pullings a fine, knowledgeable midshipman? Oh – but where am I: have you had your supper? I am aggrieved there was not time for a proper meal, you know, not even for the gunroom; but tomorrow I dare say Killick will cook us a fine officers' dinner; to amend for our lost appointment in Port Mahon, do you see. And do you find your quarters tolerable, sir? They are unnatural small, to be sure, but then there wasn't no surgeon's cabin when they gave her to me,’ said Jack with a bright and earnest grin.

‘Very tolerable,’ Stephen answered, ‘and as to the appointment in Port Mahon, you need not concern yourself. I am inclined to believe we shall have abundant opportunities to make repairs, given the time it must take to cover the distance of your cruise; though of course I am no seaman.’

‘No, no, dear sir, nor will you ever be - for don't you know, a ship's surgeon is an officer.’ Here he let out an echoing ‘Ha, ha!’ but Stephen did not appear to enjoy his jab quite as much, and eager not to hurt the sensibilities of his new friend he hurried on: ‘Well, you are right about our cruise; though you will find ships' doctors are more often occupied than at liberty in the Navy.’ Jack’s eyes moved naturally into the rigging, checking the few sails abroad. In a murmur he continued, ‘You shall have an entire cruise to exercise your practice to your content. Men at sea may be a hard set of dogs, but once struck down with the mildest, the kindest of colds, you would think they was stricken with plague – “within death's sickled compass come” – aye, crying for a physician like babes for tits.’

Stephen said nothing, but smiled for the second time in as many days. He looked up into the rigging with Jack without meaning to follow his gaze – to be sure, despite Pullings’ admirable patience, there was nothing up there he understood – and he allowed his eyes and subconscious to wander into the stars that pricked the black velveteen night. ‘Why are the stars not classed after the manner of creatures? Already they are given Latin names,’ he thought vaguely. Aloud he said, ‘My dear sir, nothing would give me greater pleasure.’

Pleased that his physician was pleased – pleased too that his ship was sufficiently manned and stocked at last, pleased that indeed he _had_ a ship and a cruise – the possibility of glory, of a fortune – Jack positively illumined the deck as Stephen kindly excused himself and bid the Captain good-night. He remained on the quarterdeck, following his friend's movements until he disappeared below. Without needing to think of it he was aware that the wind had changed tack again, shifting east, and he gave the order to resolve the _Sophie_ 's course.

*

The room was silent; Stephen raised his elbows. He put one elongated hand upon the instrument’s ebony neck and drew his bow up to the tight strings with the other; and so uttered a few deep phrases. ‘Do you recall, Jack? The Hartes’ concert in Port Mahon?’

‘The Locatelli! Of course.’ Jack’s colour heightened to a pleasured red at the memory, fell momentarily to an embarrassed pink that was just visible upon his tan while he recalled his lack of genteel conduct that evening so very long ago – indeed, they had almost come to blows – then gradually regained its first overjoyed red as he arrived at the happy ending which was their present relationship, and the sight of Stephen seated across from him, the slanted morning light warming his pale cheeks.

Then Stephen furrowed his dark brow, and Jack was on the verge of asking if he was quite well when the Doctor lowered his voice to a rumble and said with mock brutishness, ‘ “ _My name is AUBREY, sir: I am staying at the Crown._ ” ’

Realisation and embarrassment dawned at once upon Jack’s ever-sincere face, and as they did an unpleasant scratching that could almost be termed a laugh escaped from Stephen’s direction. This had the effect of quite reviving the Captain however, and he straightened to deliver the cool response in his best Kerry accent: ‘ “ _Mine, sir, is Maturin. May I beg you to stand aside?”_ ’

Upon hearing his old words thrown back at him and Jack’s guffawing Stephen truly began to laugh, or rather scrape, and became so enveloped in laughter that he was obliged to lean back in his chair, gripping the ‘cello with his stockinged knees and clutching at his stomach with his hands and bow. ‘Oh Lord, Jack,’ he cried between hiccoughs, gaining precious little composure despite his efforts, ‘I am sure – _hic_ – I cannot imagine what you thought of me then – _hic_.’

‘...The Dear knows I could not have been more mistaken, however.’

‘ _Hic._ Nor I, love.’

**Author's Note:**

> I didn't recall precisely how Stephen was brought aboard that first day as I was writing this (in a very ignominious way, to be sure). I hope my re-writing can be forgiven.
> 
> Leave a ration of feedback - it's duff for writers!


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